


Don't Leave Me (My Love)

by caswell



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Just gals being pals, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: In a moment of weakness, the Queen of Westerburg tries to overdose on sleeping meds. Veronica helps her in the aftermath.





	Don't Leave Me (My Love)

**Author's Note:**

> here u go luci you IMPATIENT FUCK (ily)  
> A request by my friend based on the prompt "Don't leave me..."  
> Really don't even give a shit if this is IC for Heather so don't @ me i was working off of a request

“Don’t leave me…”

_ “Heather, it’s 11 P.M. on a Friday, I don’t have the time or energy to chat about  _ _ whatever the next lunchtime poll is gonna be, or whatever,”  _ Veronica says, and Heather can practically hear her frown on the other end of the line. She hadn’t even said anything, just hello, but Veronica must be in one of her  _ moods  _ again. Heather grimaces, insulted.  _ I’m crying on my bedroom floor and you’re just going to be a bitch like that? Who the Hell do you think you’re talking to? _

“I’m not kidding, Veronica,” Heather finally says, doing her best to keep her voice stable. “It’s nothing like that, alright? Don’t- don’t be a jerk. Just do me a favor for once, will you?” She can hardly keep from trembling, though, as she looks at the pills, slimy with saliva, that are scattered on the carpet. “Stay on the line.”

Veronica is silent for a long while, and Heather shuts her eyes tight, knowing in her heart of hearts that she’s going to hang up on her, but finally, she asks,  _ “Heather, what’s going on?”  _ To Heather’s surprise and satisfaction, there’s a trace of worry in her voice.  _ “You’re acting really weird.” _

“What’s going on, huh?” Heather echoes softly. What was truly going on was that half an hour ago, she’d nearly swallowed a whole bottle of pills and chased them with vodka, and only spat them out at the last second. What would people think of her if the demon queen of Westerburg went out like that? They’d crucify her posthumously, or use it to further their own sneaky, mutinous agendas, wouldn’t they? But it was still tempting to shove them back in her mouth like an animal, tip her head back and swallow down the booze, consequences be damned. “...Nothing’s going on,” she answers finally. “I just wanna talk.”

_ “If nothing’s going on, can’t it wait ‘til morning?”  _ Veronica asks flatly.  _ “I was just about to go to sleep. It’s been a long week.” _

“Don’t hang up the phone!” Heather snaps, then covers her mouth with her free hand, squeezing her eyes shut. If she wakes up her mother, she’s fucked; she’ll send her to some loony bin somewhere, a fate worse than death.  _ A girl like me won’t survive there, no way, no how.  _ “Just don’t,” she says, quieter. “Okay, look, here’s the situation. Life sucks.”

Veronica snorts in bitter amusement and says,  _ “Yeah, no shit, Heather. Wouldn’t expect  _ you  _ to say something like that, though.” _

“Look, just because I’m beautiful and popular doesn’t mean I don’t have  _ feelings,”  _ Heather retorts. “Have a little empathy here for once, okay, Veronica? I’m supposed to be your best friend, remember?”  _ Maybe I should’ve called up McNamara or something,  _ she thinks to herself.  _ Sucks at comforting people, but at least she’d be there. _

_ “...Right. I’m sorry.”  _ Veronica sounds genuine, and Heather breathes a sigh of relief.

_ “Thank  _ you,” she says, and is silent for a while, eyes travelling from the pills to the bottle to the overturned glass of vodka, former contents now a dark patch on the carpet. “You can keep a secret, can’t you, Veronica?”

_ “Well, I don’t make a habit of running my mouth about confidential things,”  _ Veronica answers.  _ “But I don’t know why you’re trusting me with this.” _

Heather laughs, highly entertained by Veronica’s naiveté, and says, “You really think Heather or Heather can keep a secret? Popular girls are horrible at that. It’s our specialty to spread rumors, and frankly, I don’t trust Duke as far as I can throw her. But you…” Heather pauses, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “You’re not a  _ natural  _ popular girl. I mean, you still have a moral compass, even if you don’t listen to it much.”

Veronica clicks her tongue, sounding slightly offended and probably holding back a snarky comment.  _ “Well, whatever. Let’s hear it. And yeah, I promise I’ll keep it under wraps.” _

The next few seconds are silent besides the faint breathing background static of the phone. Finally, Heather blurts out, “I tried to kill myself.” She holds her breath for what feels like an eternity, and Veronica doesn’t respond and doesn’t respond and doesn’t respond and…

_ “What? Heather, a-are you okay?”  _ Heather is breathless at the sound of worry in Veronica’s voice, something she hadn’t even thought possible to be directed at her.  _ Why should she care?  _ she wonders, and takes the phone away from her ear to stare at it in disbelief.  _ I mean, Christ, she hates me!  _ Faintly, she hears Veronica ask,  _ “Heather?” _

“Right, sorry, I’m here,” Heather says quickly, holding up the phone again. “Yeah. I’m okay. I spat out the pills.” She feels weak, pathetic at the admission; she can’t take it back now. It really happened. She’s put all her trust in Veronica, and if she fucks it up, she’ll lose everything. Then again, might that be a good thing? The only reason she’s here is because of the paranoia, the pressure of being popular- petty, maybe, but suicide’s the easiest answer, right?

There’s a burst of static as Veronica sighs heavily.  _ “Heather, why would you do that? What could possibly be so bad that you'd throw your life away because of it?” _

“Well, shit, Veronica, if I had the answer to that, I’d be dead by now,” Heather answers. “I wouldn’t have pussied out. I’m just tired of it all. You said  _ I’m  _ a piranha, but so is everyone else! There’s no damn loyalty at this school.”

_ “So, what, they’re all waiting to overthrow you?”  _ Veronica asks incredulously.  _ “Heather, you’ve got this school wrapped around your little finger. I think you’re sa-” _

“No, Veronica, you don’t  _ get  _ it!” Heather interrupts, and Veronica shuts up for a blessed second. “You’re content just being a part of our clique, because it keeps you out of trouble. You don’t want much. But all these fake fucks? They all wanna be  _ me,  _ and they’re waiting for the first chance to dethrone me. I drop a tampon or something and they’ll  _ butcher  _ me.”

Veronica is silent, pondering Heather’s words for a second, hopefully.  _ “I never knew you were so scared about that. I thought it was just… normal.” _

_ Normal.  _ Heather scoffs, disgruntled not with Veronica but with herself.  _ Yeah, right. When have I ever had normal feelings? I’m an uptight narcissist with daddy issues. Whatever.  _ “No way. I mean, maybe for other girls at other schools, but, as we’ve already established, I’ve kind of got a rocky outlook on life. Oh, and those boys who shove their tongues down your throat at keg parties? I don’t like ‘em either.”

_ “Then, why do you go?”  _ Veronica asks.  _ “I don’t get it. I mean, if you don’t like it, why do it? You can do anything you want; you’re Heather fuckin’ Chandler.” _

This time, Heather  _ is  _ a little frustrated with Veronica. _ Good God, girl, keep up with me.  _ “Because, like I said, if I  _ don’t,  _ that’ll be another slight against me. Bitch too much and you’re a prude, go after too many guys and you’re a whore- I’m just gonna go with the flow.”

_ “...Right. Okay. That’s fair.”  _ There’s a shuffling noise, something like blankets being pulled off a bed.  _ “Heather, do you want me to come over or something? You seem stressed. I can make you some tea or something.” _

“Rather have some vodka,” Heather mutters. Still, though, she considers Veronica’s offer. It’s been somewhat cathartic talking to her on the phone, but once she hangs up she’ll be alone again, surrounded by sedatives that shame her to tears to look at. “...Yeah, that sounds good. Will your parents let you?”

Veronica makes the universal  _ I don’t know  _ sound.  _ “They’re not that strict, I guess. They’re already asleep, so as long as I’m home before they wake up, we should be fine.” _

“Right. Well.” Heather stares down at the floor through her crossed legs. “You gotta hang up now, then, huh?”

_ “Yeah,”  _ Veronica says,  _ “But look, you don’t live that far. I’ll be there in twenty.”  _

Heather is hung up on before she can say anything more. She holds the phone to her ear one more second, the buzzing sound piercing into her, then closes her eyes and lets the phone dangle from the cord. 

 

She never expected to make anywhere near the amount of effort she is for the sake of Heather Chandler’s well-being, but Veronica still finds herself in her car, hair disheveled, clad just in pajamas (although, of course, she had the common decency to put on a bra before heading out) at 11:30, making haste to her house. Even if she dislikes Heather- and that’s on a  _ good  _ day- she can’t just ignore something this serious. Of course, how much of her bitchiness is genuine cruelty and how much is just to keep herself safe? Not that it matters- it certainly doesn’t make a difference to, say, Rodney, or Martha Dunstock- but Veronica ponders it anyway as the streetlights flash by in the windows of her station wagon.

Veronica makes it to Heather’s house in record time and parks across the street, waiting in the car for a moment before unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out. She doesn’t even know what she’ll say or do, but it felt like the right thing to come here under the circumstances. If Heather was calling  _ Veronica  _ of all people for emotional support, she better not flake out on her. As per usual, the back door is unlocked, and Veronica slides it open as quietly as possible. Heather’s mother was probably still sleeping, and, even though Veronica’s figured out that she sleeps hard- no doubt related to the extravagant wine rack in the dining room- she doesn’t want to take any chances. She makes her way nigh silently upstairs and, bracing herself, opens Heather’s bedroom door.

The view before her is surreal. Heather sits cross-legged on the floor, makeup streaked with tears, surrounded by mouthfuls of pills and an impressively large bottle of vodka. Veronica takes a hesitant step into the room, and Heather looks up at her, exhaling like she’d been hit with a brick. “Veronica,” she breathes. “You…”

“I told you I would come,” Veronica says with a shrug. She sets her purse down on Heather’s vanity table, then walks to her and kneels down. “We should probably clean all this up before your mom sees.” She turns to the bottle of vodka and the discarded glass and looks for a second before she fills it up again and hands it to Heather. “To calm your nerves.”

Heather stares at the glass for a minute, then takes it gratefully and downs it in one go. “Thanks,” she says under her breath. She winces and presses a middle and pointer finger to one temple, squeezing her eyes shut tight. “Goddamn, I feel like Hell.”

“Stress headache, huh?” Veronica asks, and, when Heather nods, she lays a hand over her fingers, as if to inspect her. “Help me clean up the pills, and I’ll get you some painkillers and tea. You have tea, right?”

Heather shakes her head to clear it, flinching again in pain, then answers, “Yeah, we might have some. I mean, most of what we have is alcohol, but we keep the essentials around.” She sighs deeply, staying still for a moment, then opens her eyes and shrugs Veronica’s fingers off of her temple. “Right. Let’s… clean up the mess.”

Veronica gives Heather what she hopes is a comforting smile and starts to scrape up the spat-out pills, trying not to cringe at the sticky texture of dried saliva. Beside her, Heather tiredly picks the capsules one by one off the carpet and collects them in one cupped hand. It takes a few minutes- Heather must’ve emptied out half the medicine cabinet- but finally, the floor is clean, aside from the vodka, which won’t stain anyway; Veronica doesn’t have the energy to soak that up. There’s a garbage can in the corner, and the two of them dump the pills in when Veronica brings it over.

“We should probably toss that bag in the trash,” Heather says quietly. “Mom’s gonna flip if she sees that shit in there.”

Veronica frowns, cocking her head to one side. “Your mom goes through your trash? Kinda messed up, isn’t it?”

“Look, my whole family is kinda messed up,” Heather says, an edge coming into her voice. “My daddy left me and my mom is drunk if she’s not at work. Pretty great life I’ve got going on here, Veronica.” She doesn’t sound mad at her specifically, but Veronica still squares her shoulders, ready to defend herself. “Let’s just take out the garbage. My life story doesn’t matter right now.”

“That’s fair,” Veronica says, and ties a knot with the handles of the plastic bag. She walks for the door, but pauses as she grabs the doorknob. Turning around, she asks, “Are you going to be safe if I leave for a sec?” She lasted 20 minutes without her, but she’s in worse shape than Veronica thought she’d be. In all honestly, she’d expected her to be sitting pretty in bed with a half-empty bottle of pills on her nightstand, but she was currently a wreck on the floor, so it’s better safe than sorry.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine,” Heather says, and waves her hand dismissively. Veronica would be annoyed under different circumstances, but for now, she just slips out into the hallway. She knows the Chandler abode fairly well after half a year of friendship, and she manages to locate the garbage bin with ease- in the garage, of course. As she ascends the stairs again once she’s tossed out the bag, she hears an odd ripping noise and frowns.

There’s a shadow moving across the light coming from beneath the door, and Veronica stares at it for a couple seconds before she knocks to announce her presence. When she opens the door, Heather is standing in the middle of the room, violently tearing into a piece of paper which Veronica recognizes as a page from the notepad that Heather McNamara had given her for Christmas. “Heather,” she asks, keeping her voice down, “was that the note?”

Heather stops ripping and looks up at Veronica, then nods. “Yeah. It was stupid anyway. I’d have burned it, but I don’t have a lighter, and I don’t want to set off the smoke alarm.” She looks down at the bits of torn paper in her hands. “Don’t know what to do with the scraps now, though.”

“Will your mom put them together if she finds them in your trash can?” Veronica asks, and holds up a plastic bag that she’d grabbed. “I got a new liner for it, so…”

Heather shakes her head and says, “No, she’ll be fine about it. I’ll just tell her it was an old homework assignment. C’mere, gimme that.” Veronica holds out the bag, and Heather dumps the handful of scraps in, watching them flutter down to the bottom. “...Hm.”

“Hm, what?” Veronica blinks in curiosity.

“It’s just… wow, that got cleaned up quick, huh,” Heather says quietly as she looks at the bag. “No pills, no note… just some liquor, and that’s a normal Friday night. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have thought anything happened.” She takes a seat on her bed and stares down at the floor where the pills used to be. “All seems so stupid now.”

Veronica sits down gracelessly down next to Heather and sighs. “Well, would you rather have a  _ not  _ stupid reason for suicide?”

Eyes dark, Heather glares at Veronica. “It’s not a  _ stupid  _ reason! My life is out of my own control! It truly and genuinely blows, Veronica.”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant,” Veronica says, and worries her lips a second before continuing, “Every reason for suicide is stupid. Or, rather, not a good enough reason to die, I guess.” She does the thing she  _ least  _ expected to do that evening before Heather’s fateful phone call and takes her hand in hers, rubbing the back with her thumb. “Look. If you were happy every day of your life, you wouldn’t be a human being, you’d be a game show host.”

For a split second, Heather looks almost disgusted, but her face falls into a calmness that looks foreign on her. She relaxes slightly into Veronica’s touch and lets her head fall, closing her eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she says quietly, and gives a humorless laugh. “God, this is the weirdest night of my life.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Veronica says, and marvels again at Heather’s vulnerability, a look she’d never thought she’d see on her. Heather Chandler was a bitch, a cruel one, and that was why Veronica hadn’t even considered this side of her. It didn’t excuse anything she’d done, of course, and she still didn’t  _ like  _ her, but it brought some depth to her, the slightest bit of humanity. The goat’s horns were dulled, the pitchfork, dropped; the teen femme devil had been taken down a notch. Veronica realizes suddenly that she’s staring and says quickly, “Right, right. The tea. Do you still want those painkillers?”

Heather gives the most hurried nod she can manage with her pounding head. “Yeah. Please. I’ll come down and show you where the tea is…”

 

Seated tiredly at the kitchen table, Heather watches Veronica as she navigates the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinet that she’d pointed out earlier, the one that contains a couple boxes of bagged tea. Veronica’d given her a couple pills of ibuprofen and a glass of water, but despite her throbbing headache, Heather can’t seem to take her eyes off of her to swallow them. Something in the haze of her zoned mind, exhausted from an attempt to end her own life, lights Veronica up like a Christmas tree, decorates her like an angel; every inch of her glows.

The angel in Heather’s kitchen delivers the tea a few minutes later, a cup for each of them. Chamomile. The earthy scent fills the air between them, and the steam that rises from the scalding liquid creates a barrier that Heather is tempted to sweep aside. It’ll dissipate within minutes, she knows that, but she doesn’t want to take her eyes off Veronica. In the morning she’ll wake up and these feelings will go away, she’s sure, but something in her wants to clutch onto her for dear life and not let go. Her eyes find Veronica through the haze, but hers are downcast, looking at her cup as she sips from it. Pleadingly, Heather whispers, “Don’t leave me, Sawyer.”

“Hm?” Veronica stops mid-drink and raises her eyes to look at Heather. She sets the cup back down on the table, swallows the tea, and asks, “Did you say something, Heather?”

Heather shakes her head hurriedly, blonde curls shining in the artificial light as they sway from side to side. “Nothing. Just, uh, thanks for the tea.” Shaking her head feels like stabbing herself in the temple, though, so she finally takes the pills, cold water chilling her tea-warmed tongue. “And the painkillers,” she adds.

“‘s no problem,” Veronica says, and shrugs before taking another sip of tea. “So, you feeling a little better? You looked like a mess when I got here.” She leans in, peering at Heather’s face; the steam has been whisked away. “Actually, you still sort of do. You should use some makeup remover.”

Heather rubs one eye and stares down at the clumped mascara that streaks the side of her finger. “Yeah, I probably should.” She’s suddenly hyper-aware of the paint and powder on her skin, and she feels like clawing it off; she wants to be stripped bare, cast all of herself aside and start anew. If only she could be reborn as someone who didn’t  _ care  _ about being popular, or being loved, or having a functional family.  _ Oh, whatever. Waxing poetic about it isn’t going to do any good,  _ Heather chastises herself.

“I’ll help you if you want,” Veronica offers. “I don’t know if you’re in a good enough state to take care of yourself. ...No offense.”

Heather would have spat out a comeback, but Veronica has a point; she was stable now that she had company, but if Veronica left, who knows where her heart would wander off to. Not to mention, Veronica’s touch would ground her, keep her from drifting around the house, wandering its halls, too big for two, far too big for one lonely teenage girl. “That’d be nice,” Heather says, and falls silent again.

“Well, finish drinking your tea and I can do that quick,” Veronica says. She takes a sip of her own again and asks, “I didn’t make it too hot, did I?”

Heather shakes her head again and licks some of the tea from her lips. “No, it’s fine. Thanks.” It isn’t really, she’d nearly burned her tongue, but for once she doesn’t have the energy to bitch at her. She holds the warm cup gently in her hands, biting the inside of her bottom lip, then adds, “For everything.”

“Of course,” Veronica says nonchalantly. “I care about my friends, even if they are huge bitches.” Heather smirks; Veronica had never been one to go easy on someone, but she almost appreciates it right now. Heather Chandler is not a pussy, and Veronica pointing out her other flaws assures her of that. Not to mention, it’s nothing she doesn’t already know. She didn’t get in this position by being nice.

“Still, I figured I should probably thank you,” Heather says, and shrugs. “Just for posterity.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Veronica says. “You know… I’ll stay overnight if you want. Set an alarm and be outta here by the time your mom wakes up.”

Heather rolls her eyes and gives a dry chuckle. “Yeah, you won’t need an alarm to do that. I’m sure you’ve figured out my mother’s usual routine: work, drink, pass out for 12 hours, get up and do it again.” 

“...Point taken,” Veronica says, then downs the rest of her tea before asking, “Heather, are you okay? You keep scratching at your face.”

“What?” Heather blinks, then takes her hand away from her face. She hadn’t realized it, but she’s been dragging her nails against her skin; pale foundation is caked beneath her fingernails, collecting there without her knowledge. She scrapes it out with the nail of her thumb and frowns at it as it falls in small dusty bits to the table. “Oh,” she murmurs. “Maybe we should take my makeup off.”

“Yeah, probably,” Veronica says. “Are you done with your tea?”

Heather looks down at her cup. There’s still a bit of tea in there, but her stomach is too weak for it; she pushes it away and nods. “Yeah. Help me get this stuff off, will you?” Veronica takes Heather’s cup, long fingers outstretched, and Heather looks down at her hands with an odd longing, a need for touch that she’s terrified to voice. It feels disgusting, uncouth; she’s not supposed to need anything like that, or feel, or think, just be a good girl and be the shallow, two-dimensional person that people think she is. What a corner she’s backed herself into now.

“Heather? Are you listening?” Veronica asks, and Heather looks up at her, confused. She must have zoned out- had Veronica been talking? “I asked you to come upstairs with me. That’s where your makeup remover is, right?”

Heather hums in affirmation and stands up, not bothering to push her chair back in under the table. After Veronica puts their cups in the sink, Heather follows her with fatigued legs upstairs, feeling dead on her feet- it’s half past midnight now, and, while she stays up far later on a regular basis, she feels sapped of any strength she may have had.  _ At least Veronica’s here to take care of me,  _ she thinks exhaustedly to herself.

 

Veronica, pityingly, stares at Heather’s face for a moment. She’s dragged a couple of chairs into the bathroom, and has Heather seated across from her. In one hand, she holds a soft, damp sponge, and she places it on Heather’s cheek now, rubbing gentle circles into her skin. It still looks unreal to Veronica, Heather with her tear-streaked mascara and ghost-like look, as if she wasn’t wholly there; it flatters her that she was the one she called upon to take care of her, but the illusion of the all-powerful Heather Chandler has been broken, and now she’s only human, and it feels… oddly harrowing.  _ Well, nobody’s immortal,  _ she thinks to herself;  _ not even bitches like that.  _

Heather, slightly trembling, seems to lean into Veronica’s touch- rather, the wet sponge- as she takes off her makeup. Veronica pauses for a second as the odd urge to cup her face in one hand comes over her, and muses,  _ Why? Why am I being so tender, anyway? I don’t like her, but…  _ Realizing that Heather is frowning, Veronica leans over to wash the sponge, then continues on her other cheek.  _...But I do. I do like her- I like  _ this  _ Heather, the vulnerable Heather, the Heather that doesn’t shoot to kill.  _

“What’s with the look?” Heather asks, and Veronica snaps back to reality. “I know why  _ I  _ should be distracted, but  _ you…” _

“Sorry, sorry,” Veronica says hurriedly. “It’s just, uh. ...No, it’s nothing.” How would she even verbalize what she’s feeling? More importantly,  _ should  _ she? Would she feel any different in the morning? Would Heather go back to the same person, the unshakable, malicious ruler? Would tonight change anything about either of them? But maybe, in the here and now, there’s something between them, a wordless new connection that feels almost tangible. For once, Veronica doesn’t feel so horribly alone, and she knows Heather doesn’t, either.

Heather doesn’t reply, so Veronica keeps going, wiping the last bit of makeup from her forehead. She grabs a washcloth next and wets it, then places it over Heather’s dutifully closed eyes. The mascara leaves dark streaks on the cloth, and, when Heather looks up at her, she looks like a new person- fresh, clean, and unremarkable. “I think we’re done here,” Veronica says after a transfixed moment.

Wordlessly, Heather grabs a towel from the vanity and presses it to her face, dabbing at it until it’s dry. “Thanks, Veronica,” she says finally, then sits limply back in her chair. “Christ, I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Well, it’s 12:40 in the morning,” Veronica notes. “You probably  _ should  _ go to bed.” Without thinking, she reaches out and takes Heather’s hand, and the other girl stiffens slightly. Veronica’s heart stops in her chest-  _ Bad move, Sawyer; don’t want it to look the wrong way, now-  _ but Heather relaxes after a second and threads her fingers between Veronica’s.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, and stands up, taking Veronica with her. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

Veronica nods and replies, “Well… I mean, it’s too late to go home now. ‘s past curfew. Want me to sleep on the couch downstairs or something?”

Immediately, Heather shakes her head, messy curls bouncing. “No, sleep in my bed.” She falls silent for a second, eyes widening slightly- perhaps having the same thought as Veronica had had just a moment before- and adds, “If you want. It’s more comfortable than the couch.”

“No, no, I’ll sleep in the bed,” Veronica agrees, internally sighing in relief. She doesn’t want to leave Heather alone, on the off chance she changes her mind about living, but there’s some part of her also that wants to hold her, a rarely tapped store of empathy and, dare she say, affection. Is that what it is? Affection? She keeps it under lock and key, stowing it away only for people she thinks deserve it- the mysterious, dreamy stranger she’d always dreamed of, perhaps, a gunslinger in a dark trench coat, though she has yet to meet one- but somehow it’s revealing itself, seeping out from the cracks, sinking into her heart as she looks at Heather.

Nodding wordlessly, Heather leads Veronica to the bed and lets go of her hand momentarily to pull back the sheets. “It’s not that big,” she says, an unspoken apology.

The thought of the outcome makes Veronica’s heart flutter slightly in her chest, and she’s quiet for a breathless moment before she shakes her head and says, “No, it’s fine. You, uh… you get in first.” Heather does, adjusting herself to lay on the opposite side of the bed, and Veronica slides in next to her. The sheets are silky-smooth, but chilly from disuse, and, subconsciously, Veronica edges closer to Heather as she seeks warmth. She was certainly right about the lack of space, though; it’s a twin bed, and the two lay just inches apart. Tiredly, Veronica realizes that both of them have forgotten to turn off the light, but Heather doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it- too exhausted, probably. Veronica doesn’t particularly care, either; even though she wasn’t the one who tried to off herself, she’s drained. She closes her tired eyes and sighs, curling up into the sheets and finally allowing herself to rest.

A few minutes pass, and she’s nearly asleep, but there’s a sudden warmth on her hand that pulls her back to reality. Heather’s clasped her hand in hers, and rubs the back of it with one manicured thumb. “Heather…?” Veronica asks, voice a mere whisper.

“Thanks, Veronica,” Heather says, and there’s something in her tone that makes Veronica’s heart skip a beat again, a tenderness that she never would have expected. 

Veronica squeezes Heather’s hand, and she squeezes back, and Veronica prays that Heather’s eyes are still closed, because she can feel the blood rising to her face. “You’re welcome, Heather,” she murmurs. “Now sleep; I’m here.”

“You’ll stay?” Heather asks.

“I’ll stay,” Veronica promises. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Her words are a song that lulls them to sleep, two weary girls who just want to love and be loved, and they  _ do  _ love, just for the night. Tomorrow will bring what it brings, but tonight, with their hands clasped together, they sleep in quiet safety, guarded by their affections and their care and their bared hearts. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! I love you all!!!!


End file.
